Sharp Edges
by tea-pops
Summary: Since 7th grade, Stiles had always rated Devon Wyatt an 8.5 on the Evil Bitch Scale. Higher than Lydia's 7.3 but lower than Jackson's 9.7. In short, she was off-limits. Do not touch, talk to, or breathe near, is what her warning label would say. Except they weren't in 7th grade anymore, it was the middle of sophomore year, and Stiles was never really good at reading warning labels.


In the end, it wasn't the early morning wake-up calls or the suicide-worthy amount of assignments that were making Devon dread going back to school. It was Lydia. Lydia and her insistent badgering. Since last week, it had been non-stop chatter and gossip, some of it having to do with mildly interesting drama that had happened over the course of winter-break, but most of it about the upcoming lacrosse season.

Devon wasn't surprised. Annoyed, absolutely – but not surprised. Lydia had always displayed an almost _freakish_ passion for anything involving her boyfriend, but after the fifth day of color-coordinating Jackson's lacrosse posters with Lydia breathing down her neck, Devon was convinced that she was experiencing the beginning stages of Stockholm Syndrome – because there was no way in hell she was just _suddenly_ starting to care about whether it would be the green markers or the blue ones that would best compliment Jackson's eyes. Lydia was infecting her, an unfortunate side-effect from being attached at the hip with her day-in and day-out, mooning over Jackson and his – Devon tried not to actively jump from the nearest window whenever the topic came up– _athletic prowess_. Ripping her own ears off was surprisingly tempting whenever Lydia ranted on for long enough.

But today would be the end of colored pencils and glitter glue and construction paper. Today would be the end of several days' worth of suffering. Because today was the first day back at Beacon Hills High School, and Devon had Lydia _swear_ that there would be no more talk of cheering for Jackson and the lacrosse team unless it was strictly on game days.

Devon had driven over to Lydia's house early in the morning, shivering in the cold air and cursing her car's slow-working heater. Once she arrived – a grueling process that took fifteen minutes and blinking blearily at the road, because she was useless in the early morning – she was unsurprised to find that Lydia's outfit very nearly matched her own. By the satisfied grin on the smaller girl's lips as she chirped, "Morning!", she had planned it.

"Don't we look cute," she cooed, and Devon made a bitter noise of agreement. She tiredly blew a lock of hair from her cheek as Lydia critiqued her makeup, seemingly satisfied with it as they pulled out of her driveway. She chatted during the entire car ride to the high school, the visor mirror flipped down as she applied and re-applied gloss onto her lips, eyes scrutinizing for non-existent flaws. Devon still marveled at how nonplussed she seemed to be in her mini-skirt and heels. There were literal _goosebumps_ on her own legs from where her Lydia-inspired skirt failed to cover her skin.

"Remind me why we're wearing seventy-degree clothes in thirty-degree weather?" She asked bitterly as they pulled into the high school parking lot, spotting Jackson's – beautiful, stupid, surprisingly eco-friendly – Porsche and swinging into the empty spot next to it (she was a little tempted to trade paint with it, but figured that Jackson's lawsuit and Lydia's anger wouldn't even come close to being worth it). Lydia took one last second to look in the mirror, smacked her lips together, and sighed.

"Because," she huffed sharply. No doubt she was sick of Devon's complaining, especially since her complaint of choice had to do with the first-day-of-school outfit Lydia had wrestled her into over the weekend. "It's our first day back, and that means we have to bring our A-game. Unfortunately for you, your A-game means _my_ A-game." She patted the other girl's knee before grabbing her purse from the backseat. "You can't tell me you're not happy with the skirt, Devon. Look at your legs! Paired with those shoes! They're _to die_ for."

"I'm going to die from hypothermia in this weather." Devon hissed, but followed after Lydia as she stepped gracefully out of the car. She considered herself lucky that she snatched a heavy coat before heading out the door earlier that morning, as the chilly air seemed to get even colder with the blowing wind.

"Don't be so dramatic," Lydia laughed. "It's only forty-two degrees, nowhere near hypothermic weather." She turned on her heel then and began the careful and delicate art of strutting, and Devon noted that even in her impressive heels she managed to tower over her. But Lydia was right, Devon tried not to deflate and float away in the wind as she admitted to herself. There were a few people – notably, a few boys – standing near the entrance to the school that stopped to stare. The skirt really _did_ attract the right attention to her legs.

"Hey, Lydia," the boy standing closest to the entryway said, hopeful. "You look –" Lydia didn't so much as pause to glance at him, sashaying past with the click of her shoes following after her, but Devon met his eyes – noting their intriguing shade of brown – before raising an unimpressed brow at him. His entire body seemed to collapse on itself with disappointment, his face falling slack as he stared after them. "Like you're gonna ignore me." He finished as the girls passed, significantly quieter.

And – yeah, okay, that was admittedly pathetic. Maybe she should've, like, gave him the head-nod of acknowledgement or – _wait a second_. Devon's brows furrowed as she looked back to steal another glance at him, his face suddenly bothering her. Not because he was some sort of atrocity to look at, but because her attempts to put a name to his face were coming up blank. She faintly recalled filing him under 'Spazoid' or something to that effect, but she seriously doubted that was his name. Or, at least she _hoped_ that wasn't his name.

"Hey," she nudged Lydia as they walked to their lockers. "Wasn't that your stalker?"

"Who?"

 _Awe_ , she thought sardonically to herself, even though she was faintly annoyed that Lydia wouldn't be helping her name Spazoid either. _She doesn't even pretend to acknowledge poor stalker-boys that trip over themselves. How cute_. "Never mind," she laughed, leaning against her locker and watching Lydia with raised brows as the girl pulled out a deceptively heavy chemistry book from her bag. She flipped through it for a moment, frantically shoving it into her locker once she caught sight of Jackson, who was swooping in for a seemingly inevitable make-out. Devon sighed – because honestly, not the best way to start her morning – staring with a silent snarl and a killer look at the display in front of her. She didn't bother to stifle her snicker at Lydia's smudged lip gloss once they finally pulled away.

"Good morning, Jackson," Lydia beamed from under his arm, a little breathless. He wiped away the ruined gloss and smirked faintly at her, satisfied with his work, and Devon stared at the both of them with dead-eyed disgust.

"You're sickening." She scowled, and Jackson seemed to realize that there was an onlooker intruding into their bubble of love. He returned her look with narrowed eyes.

"Morning to you, too," his barbed sneer intended to prickle – and damn his perfect teeth, it was working. "You look vaguely decent today. What's the occasion?"

 _Fuck you, that's the occasion_. "I'm just super excited to cheer you and the League of Dumbasses on at try-outs today – not like I won't be doing that at every single game this season."

Lydia shot her a haughty look that – if Devon needed to interpret, which she clearly did – said _play nice._ " _We_ wanted to look good," the redhead interjected before Jackson could snark out another generous comment. "While we watch you start off the season showing everyone _exactly_ what their captain can do."

Devon frowned. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm being forced to watch a gang of monkeys toss around a ball for two hours. Fun!"

A nudge to the shoulder, a _tired-but-not-surprised_ look from Lydia, and Devon was snickering her apologies to Jackson, who – hopefully by that point – had learned to ignore more than half of the things she said to him. They bickered back and forth – Lydia quickly losing interest after the first minute of playing peacekeeper – until the bell rang. By that point, Jackson and Devon had turned so red in the face that Lydia didn't waste a second in grabbing her by the elbow and manually walking them to their shared first-period, but not before landing a quick peck on her boyfriend's cheek.

Class began with Mr. Cliff telling the terrors of a body being discovered in the Beacon Hills Preserve the other night, but after the initial shock of that, the rest of the period seemed to pass by quickly. Lydia was on Devon's left, furiously taking notes, and Devon spent most of her time talking with Danny about try-outs and how his relatively-new boyfriend was planning on coming by to watch him. The rest of the day was uneventful. Lydia was pleased to find that nearly her entire "clique" – primarily composed of Devon, Jackson, and Danny – had the same chemistry class, and she snatched Devon's arm before she could even consider partnering with someone else – not that she would. Even their lunch period passed by quickly, as it seemed that everyone was willing time to move faster in anticipation for try-outs at the end of the day. When the final bell rang, though, Devon found herself not being dragged to the lacrosse field like she was expecting, but across the hallway, Lydia making a straight beeline towards the new student who had been the talk of most of the student body.

"Oh, you're interested in making friends now?" Devon hassled, grinning sharply at the uppity look Lydia gave her.

"I'm _interested_ in seeing what the big deal is about. She's all we've been hearing about today!"

As they got closer, Devon noticed with an appraising eye that the girl was _pretty_. Like, _fall-in-love-music-playing-in-the-background_ pretty. Dark hair framed a porcelain face, and her bright eyes were attached to the messy-haired boy down the hall who seemed equally enamored with her. Devon rolled her eyes and snorted to herself. The girl's first day and she already had an admirer – or a stalker, considering that he seemed to be friends with Lydia's brown-eyed pursuer from this morning.

"That jacket is absolutely killer. Where'd you get it?" Lydia wasted no time with introductions, and the girl jumped out of whatever prolonged eye-contact fantasy she was in, turning to stare at the girls with a bewildered expression. Devon leaned against the locker next to hers and gave a faintly wicked, mostly harmless smile, watching Lydia critique her. A nastier part of Devon wanted her to move on. Yeah, it was selfish and possessive, but she had learned a long time ago that she wasn't very good at sharing things, not toys, not clothes, and especially not friends. A significantly smaller, _kinder_ part of her wished that Lydia would find it deep (probably very deep – like excavator deep) within her soul to just make a new friend. Expand her social horizon. Get over her fear of becoming a social pariah.

"My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco," the girl answered back. Devon could tell she was nervous, her hands fidgeting with the sleeves of her shirt and the cute leather bag hung around her shoulder. She hummed in appreciation at her answer and Lydia nodded thoughtfully, eyes still narrowed but a slick smile curling on her lips.

"And _you_ are my new best friend." She showed off her teeth when she grinned, and Devon tried not to outright laugh in her face when the girl – Allison, Devon was sure she had overheard her being called – looked vaguely terrified at the prospect of a person like Lydia existing, much less being friends with her.

"I'm just here to recruit you into our pack," Devon stage-whispered to Allison, who seemed to tense even more as the taller girl leaned into her. She gave her a biting smile, the red of her lips giving the impression of a just-fed wild animal. "Lydia's not much of a people-person."

"Don't be mad, Devon, you're still number-one in my eyes." Lydia waved the other girl off with an indignant scoff, but Devon seemed to have completed her task in diffusing the awkwardness of the situation, as Allison gave a tiny laugh. Her own smile softened, more casual than intimidating.

"So, San Francisco – that close to that many shoes? I think I'd probably kill to live there."

"No doubt you'd kill for less," Jackson suddenly quipped, dropping himself into the conversation. Allison stared in discomfort as he snatched Lydia into a very long, very _hands-on_ kiss. Devon nudged the other girl with her boot and rolled her eyes at the little show Lydia was putting on – she was great at establishing dominance when she was determined enough, Devon would give her that much.

"You'll learn to ignore it," she said bluntly. "Everyone else has."

"You mean they're always like this?" Allison seemed stuck in a mixture of amazement and horror.

"Sometimes if we're lucky, they fight instead. But listening to Jackson cry gets old after the first couple of hours." Devon snickered as Jackson finally pulled away for air, hearing every word she said, judging by his glare.

"Ignore her, everyone else does." He mocked. Lydia playfully slapped his shoulder, smoothing out her skirt and fixing her hair from where he had tugged at it, and Allison took the momentary distraction to glance back at her messy-haired mystery boy who was still rooted to the spot in front of his locker.

"Allison, this is Jackson. Jackson, Allison." Devon gave a half-hearted wave between the two of them, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement.

"Hey."

How articulate. Devon didn't bother holding back the _be-nice-or-I-will-kill-you_ look in her eyes. Apparently, it was too much to expect a decent first impression from him – which, looking back, she couldn't recall him _ever_ giving a decent first impression to anyone. She was about to voice her exasperation over Jackson's social ineptitude when Lydia cut her off, seemingly catching on to the upcoming bicker-fest.

"So! This weekend, there's a party."

"A party?" Allison's voice seemed to go raise by half of an octave.

"It's Friday night. You should come."

"O-oh, I can't." She leaned away from the trio, like she was afraid that they were going to physical rope her into coming – and if Devon thought about it, she technically wasn't wrong. The three of them could be incredibly persuasive when they wanted to be. "Friday night's family night."

Cute – it was a total lie, but still cute.

"You sure?" Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Everyone's going after the scrimmage."

"You mean like football?" Allison seemed interested in the prospect of watching oversized teenaged-boys beat each other for a piece of cowhide- which, come on, who wasn't – and Devon guffawed obnoxiously at Jackson's scowl.

"Football's a joke in Beacon," he clarified. "The sport here's lacrosse. We've won the championship for the last three years."

"Because of a certain team captain," Lydia preened, happy to show off her well-trained puppy, and she pushed back a few strands of his hair. Devon looked back at Allison with a dry expression, making her smile.

"Well, we have practice in a few minutes," Jackson turned away from Lydia but continued to let her fuss over him. "That is, if you don't have anywhere else to go."

"Well, I was going to –"

"Perfect!" Lydia and Devon exclaimed at the same time, snatching both of Allison's arms. If they couldn't drag her kicking and screaming to the post-scrimmage party, they'd have to settle on gently manhandling her into watching try-outs. After a few minutes of ensuring her enjoyment and steadfastly ignoring every excuse she made, Allison relented and joined the girls on the field, perched between the two of them on the bleachers and listening in on their appraisal of the team. The boys were geared up and entering the field, Lydia pointing out Jackson to Allison once she caught sight of him, but Allison seemed to be appraising only one boy in particular. Devon stifled a huff once she caught sight of _him_ again, his cutesy puppy eyes watching her with obvious interest. Even from this far away, she could see the hearts in them– which was, like, kind of pathetic. Endearingly sweet, yeah, but pathetic.

"Someone catch your eye?" Devon whispered with a curl of her lip. Allison jumped from where she felt her cold breath hit her ear.

"I don't even know who he is," she admitted, sheepish, and tucked her hair back to keep the wind from blowing it into disarray. Her cheeks steadily grew pink as she ignored Devon's very intrigued, very _intense_ stare. She was beginning to think that the dark-haired girl could probably cut _metal_ with her eyes alone, and she fidgeted under her gaze. "Do you?"

"Him?" Lydia squinted at the goalie, her head cocked to the side in consideration. "I'm not sure who he is. Why?" She didn't attempt to hide her obvious annoyance. If she didn't even care enough about Puppy Face McGee to know his name, then it was clear that Allison had no business making _I-think-I'm-falling-in-like_ eyes at him.

"He's in my English class," Allison shrugged, and Devon threw her head back in a laugh that said _I know what you're up to_.

"And you're interested in – what? Partnering up and reading Shakespeare together?"

"No!"

"Don't be shy, he's cute. _Very cute_."

The two girls giggled while Allison rolled her eyes, her cheeks splotchy with subtle embarrassment. Before Devon could hassle her any further, the whistle blew loud and clear, the players preparing themselves on the field. The first player ran up and tossed the ball, a genuinely good throw. Good enough to nail the goalie right in the faceplate, sending him sprawling out onto the grass like a cartoon character. The crowd groaned in sympathy, some wincing at the brutal way he landed, but most of the team were laughing and making snide comments. Devon contained her bemused chuckle for Allison's sake, but Lydia didn't seem worried enough to hide hers, shaking her head as she giggled. The goalie hopped back on his feet after a few seconds of shaking his head, the lacrosse stick swinging slightly as he prepared himself for the next ball. No one was expecting much from him, especially after his spectacular failure at blocking the first shot, but Devon watched in interest anyway as the next player ran down the field, closer to the goalie until the ball was finally flying and –

Landed right in the head of the goalie's lacrosse stick. Her brows raised in pleasant surprise, as well as everyone else's, and the goalie even seemed to be shocked too, staring down at the ball in his net. Slow claps came from the bleachers, and Devon noticed an overexcited boy – _Spazoid_ . . . wait, was he trying out for the team, too? – on the bench give a stunned shout of encouragement. It was a whirl of blocked shots, after that. Player after player gave it their best and were subsequently blocked, and Devon was wondering how this kid hadn't made it to first line before, because he was clearly displaying some sort of Lacrosse Jesus talent.

"He seems like he's pretty good," Allison voiced Devon's thoughts with a pleased-as-punch smile.

"Yeah, very good," Lydia agreed, a little breathless as she eyed him with a dangerous spark in her eyes. Her interest in him was quickly rising, like a thermometer being thrust over a fire, and Devon knew from firsthand experience that nothing good came from _that_ look. _That_ look meant obsession and five-hour long rants over text message about how Jackson needed to step up his game or fade into obscurity – and speaking of which . . .

Devon watched with faint amusement as Jackson hustled towards the front of the line, halting another boy with his lacrosse stick. He was determined to go head-to-head with the goalie himself.

"Looks like someone can't share the spotlight," Devon gave an unsurprised roll of her eyes, but Lydia ignored her, her rapt attention completely focused on the display of _me-athlete-you-slightly-better-athlete-let's-fight-bitch_. Despite the drama – or perhaps _because_ of the drama – Devon found that there was something to be appreciated about the sport. Maybe it was the dedication, or the perseverance, or just the enjoyment she got from watching her classmates bash each other with sticks on a daily basis, but she _really_ appreciated lacrosse.

It was probably the bashing-with-sticks thing.

Devon could feel the Allison tense from beside her as Jackson stalked forward, quickening into a sprint and lurching himself into the air as he swung as fiercely as he could manage. It was almost like everything turned slo-mo, waiting for the ball to fly past the goalie and into the net. Except it didn't, choosing instead to find its way in the goalie's stick, and a righteous cheer came over the crowd. Devon was up and on her feet with Lydia, who was cheering wildly with the enthusiasm usually reserved for Jackson – and he noticed, judging by the homicidal edge to his face. Devon joined in with Allison's laughter, the other girl grinning as wide as she could as she cheered, one again showcasing a bright pair of enamored eyes at her goalie.

"Are you interested now?" Devon asked with a smug raise of her brow, and Allison sighed and gave a reluctant nod, her grin never faltering. Yes, she was interested. She was _definitely_ interested.


End file.
